Page 25 of Trapped With the Secret Agent

Chapter Six

Peter raked one handthrew his hair in a frustrated gesture he was glad Georgia couldn’t see. Dammit, kissing her had been a mistake. She was huddled up to the stacked boxes like they were her best friend or something. So much for gaining her trust.Idiot.

After being attacked by that SOB upstairs, Peter doubted any man’s touch would be welcome. He’d felt her relax by degrees as she cried, getting the stress out of her system that way, but he’d had no such stress relief. The closeness of her body, the feel of her silky hair on his neck, and her scent—a combination of cinnamon and woman—went straight to his head. And not the one on his shoulders. Her declaration of feeling safe with him was the last straw. He had to taste her. Just once he wanted those full satiny lips under his own, to taste and savor her.

Now, her body was as far away from his as it could get in the limited space allowed.

She’d been through enough pain. He could not,would not, add to it.

Stealing himself against reacting to her body in close quarters with his again, he reached a hand up feeling for the grill and removed it. “Let’s go.”

Behind him, he could feel her body quivering. Fear, of him and the closed in space. Had there been any other option he would have taken it, but this was the only play they had.

He breathed out slowly, trying to evict the desire to hold her, because she sure as hell wouldn’t want his hands on her any more than necessary.

“Ready?” At least his voice sounded businesslike.

“Yes.” Hers carried fear and anxiety by the bucketful.

“I’ll give you a boost.” He put his hands on her waist. “Here we go.” He hoisted her up, cursing himself, almost wishing his hand would slip again.

Almost.

That confirmed it, he was afucking asshole.

The cold metal of the ventilation shaft enveloped Georgia, touching her everywhere with icy hands that froze her skin and stalled the air in her lungs. She tried not to struggle against the lack of space, oxygen, and absolute darkness, but steadily lost the battle with herself.

Tortured sobs reverberated around her.

God, where were those sounds coming from? As if torn from an insane person’s throat. She paused in her efforts to push forward to listen and realized she was the one making the noises.

“Don’t stop, just keep going. You’re almost there,” Peter said from the vicinity of her feet, his voice a reassuring anchor to reality. She wanted to touch him, to grab hold and never let go, but this was not the place to do it.

“Ok.” Georgia closed her lips firmly, breathed in deep through her nose and pushed forward again with her arms and legs. She wanted out, and she wanted out now.

She reached the opening to the second vent and had to consciously stop herself from diving head-first into the dim light and exquisitely large space on the other side. Thank God Peter hadn’t replaced the grill. Hyperventilating, she worked her body around, wiggling till she could get her feet out the hole, and down she went.

Freedom. The sensation of air flowing over her skin in an open room was so wonderful that tears leaked out of her eyes and down her face.

A metallicthunk-chunkabove warned her that Peter was about to come out of the vent. She moved hastily away, wiping the wetness from her cheeks with a couple of quick swipes of her palms.

He landed next to her with the grace of a cat. Was the guy a part-time contortionist on the side? Not for the first time, Georgia wondered where he learned to do all this stuff.

So, not what she should be worried about right now.

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